


Stupid Dress Shoes, Dust Bunnies & Magical Radishes

by RomanosCheese



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, And angst, Cinderella AU, Exaggerated Behavior, Family Member Death, Fluff and Crack, Half of svt ar mythical creatures, Humor, Jihoon is an incorrigible romantic, M/M, Magic, Non-specific time period, Slightly Aged-Down Characters, pumpkins are out radishes are in, verkwan centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-07-29 22:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16274105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanosCheese/pseuds/RomanosCheese
Summary: 《Hansol is》the awkward and incompetent prince of Sebongia™ who’s forced to suffer long hours of traditional dance practice in an attempt not to step all over Joshua’s shiny dress shoes. His dad only wish is for him to marry a nice girl that’ll keep him in check after he’s gone, which sucks balls 'cause Hansol’s pretty freakin’ gay. 《Seungkwan is》the dutiful stepson of an overbearing man who also happens to be the laziest SOB in the whole wide Kingdom, and his stepbrothers don’t help much either. But if there’s something his moron of a father had taught him before he went and got himself killed, was that no matter the situation, as long as he could have fun and make people laugh all was good. And by God, nothing could ever stop him from going to the royal ball and having the best time of his goddamn life! Not even Jeonghan’s unwillingness to get out of bed, or Wonwoo’s dumb stand-up comedy night. 《Jihoon is》a hopeless romantic—despite what he has everyone else believe—and just wants things to be simple for a change. So on the night of the dance, he descends to the human world with a single mission in mind: Getting shit sorted out with the help of his magical Pixie powers. Good thing he had some radishes left in the fridge.





	1. Once Upon a Time...

  

Somewhere, near the outskirts of a great and bustling town in the name of Pledisville™, lay a big and beautiful mansion, surrounded by green, lush gardens that seemed to stretch out for miles to no end. The house in question was — no objections — an outright masterpiece, made out of only the best building materials one could find in the whole wide Kingdom. Snow-white pillars with lovely floral patterns engraved on them decorated the outer walls, and more than once caused confused hummingbirds to crash head-first into the house and suffer from temporary concussions or the occasional broken wing.

And in that seemingly fabulous and peaceful house, there lived a fabulous and gorgeous young man together with his two stepbrothers and dad.

The boy’s biological father had died when he was still very young. Apparently, he had been hiking in the forest near the Royal Palace one day, when he stumbled upon a bear cave and decided to —  _why the hell not_ — make some unforgettable lifelong memories with a ferocious wild animal. In his defense, he never really had the chance of seeing one up close before, and resisting temptation wasn’t among his strong suits (he liked to think that counted as one of his many charms). Unfortunately, this particular man’s utter fucking stupidity resulted in the heartbreak of a very nice and kind lady, who had been left to take care of a boy only ten-years-old at the time all by herself.  
  
Despite the father’s tendency of doing reckless things that went completely against all human logic, the memories that his son, Seungkwan, held from the times they had spent together were always warm, loving and ‘fuzzy-feely’. One of them being the thing his dad had used to tell him after every humiliating or near-death experience he had;

“Life is too short to be sitting around in a stuffy room the whole day, sipping wine and contemplating dark and miserable things. No! Life should be celebrated by taking as many chances as you can, going out there, meeting new people, visiti—  _Ouch!_  Visiting places you’ve never even dreamed of setting foot i—  _Ow!_  Trying unfamiliar and exciting things! How do you think I made all of this possible if not by following those exact same principles?” he had often said while stretching his hands out to gesture at the tremendous, well-furnished conservatory they were sitting in, his spouse reminding him to keep still as she made sure to carefully disinfect and patch up the fresh bruises blooming all over his arms and forehead. She would chuckle and roll her eyes as her husband winced and furrowed his brow, still continuing on with his passionate rant even through the fleeting pain.

“Kid, trust your old man when he tells you this: the key to a successful life isn’t by title or asset, it’s by making the people around you happy, always giving them things to laugh about. No one can resist a good joke! Look at your mother, she was totally smitten the instant I came up to her the night we met and offered to be her personal ride for the eveni— ”

“Honey!”

“What?”  
  
After his father’s unconscious body was found in the woods, soldiers from the King’s personal patrol troop came to their house and delivered the news to Seungkwan’s devastated mother.

His mom was a headstrong and hard-working woman who always made her utmost best to come off as cheerful, compassionate and grateful to everyone surrounding her — a person ready to take on anything life would throw at them. She only cried for a few minutes in the kitchen, hidden away by the numerous pots and pans, when the guards eventually disappeared behind the door, and she thought she had been left all alone. But the boy saw her from his hiding spot, through the thin crack of the pantry door, and rushed straight into her arms, making her bite her lower lip in vain attempt to quiet down the sobs threatening to gush out of her mouth in scorching waves. For a vanishing moment, it seemed to be working, but the burning throbs of her shattered heart didn’t relent, and soon enough her eyes filled with new tears that were then falling visibly and audibly against tense cheeks.

“Momma, please don’t cry! Did you hear about the guy whose whole left side was bitten off? He’s  _all right_  now!”

“Oh… sweetie…”

“What do you call a bear who’s lost all its teeth? A gummy bear!”  
  
She laughed and pressed him gently against her chest, although her voice came out weaker and shakier than normal. “Figures your father would only teach you jokes that relate to the situation in the worst way possible, it had always been like that with him.” She sighed deeply, her hand brushing her son’s hair away from his pouty and tear-streaked face, bringing him closer to her. Closer as much as was physically possible. “I’m going to really miss him…”  
  
Luckily for her, Seungkwan’s mother didn’t have to miss his dad for too long, because only a few years after (full of umpteen difficulties and compromises) she met a charming and striking-looking man that went by the name of Yoon Jeonghan. He was very young, younger than Seungkwan’s mother (who married out of love at an early age) and most of all, financially stable. She was perfectly entranced with him the moment they were introduced to each other by his overly eager parents — or so she had said.  
  
“Father would want you to be happy, Mother, and if marrying another guy brings you happiness, then I’m sure he would've had no problem with that, too,” Seungkwan often said. He made sure to show support for his mother’s decision to the best of his ability by saying words of encouragement on every chance he got. “The lovely Madam Jwa deserves only the best and if she believes that Jeonghan is the best for her then so do I!”  
  
When Seungkwan was nearing the prime age of fourteen, the time of their long-awaited marriage had finally come, and in moved his two new brothers: Wonwoo and Mingyu.

Turned out they weren’t Jeonghan’s real sons (since he couldn’t have possibly had children at such an early stage of his life) but in fact, the two adopted children his futile late uncle had taken in, in an attempt to secure some sort of good deed to appease God with before his final departure from Earth.

Basically, they were his version of a charity case. Nothing more, nothing less. So when it came to Jeonghan and the relationship he had with the two of them, it wasn’t the kind of connection established from being related by blood. But, as Wonwoo came to tell Seungkwan on one fateful night, some other strange bond they had seemed to develop over the span of long summers; when Jeonghan’s family would come to visit his uncle for vacation purposes. Still, It was quite an odd predicament, if Seungkwan had said so himself. The way they decided to live together even now.

Wonwoo was the son of a maid who died in labor. He was as worse as Seungkwan’s father had used to be when it came down to a sense of humor. Fifty percent of his waking hours were spent by making those excruciatingly dry jokes that always fell flat, fully expecting people to laugh, just to be met with deafening silence and blank stares. It didn’t stop him from trying, though.

He also read.  _A lot._  Which only made it harder for his recent family member to cope with the annoying habit he had of starting deep and insightful discussions just to end up on a dumb pun, and ruin everything he had been building up to. And if that wasn’t enough, he sometimes got that extremely scary and brooding look on his face — whenever he let it rest — that definitely sent some chills down Seungkwan’s spine.

Mingyu was born to a poor farmers family with too many kids to count. He was tall —  _way tall_  — and dark, and surprisingly smart and snarky for a guy whose favorite spare time activities were stuffing his face with as much food as was humanly possible and rolling around in the mud with the watchdogs. Seungkwan was, more often than not, inclined to believe that Mingyu was just a huge puppy himself.  
  
Together, his current siblings were even more insufferable. Non-too harmful, but demanding and seeking Seungkwan’s attention on every chance they got; which was laughably deplorable considering the fact they were both older than him and were already at the age to act like proper adults. Nope. Definitely not adults. Just two overgrown toddlers. (There was so much stupid bickering Seungkwan could take before he had to remind himself — for the nth time! — not to jump down their throats and end the both of them right then and there).

Jeonghan was sweet, albeit a bit cunning, and showered him in as much love as he did with his mother. The relationship he had with her was very peculiar, not only because of the tangible age gap but also seeing the way they talked to each other (like a boy confiding in the friendly resident aunty about his problems) and always interacted within a safe distance. It made Seungkwan think Jeonghan was his mother’s own charity case, even if  _he_ was the one with the money. Their love wasn’t a romantic type — he had ultimately come to understand — but one created out of sheer necessity. Hence, Seungkwan thought of Jeonghan as more of an older brother, if anything. It was a much more comfortable thought than regarding him as his new father, he had to admit to himself.

Seungkwan was overall happy and thankful, even if he did miss his bat-shit crazy dad sometimes.

All was well, until one day. The day his dear mother, the lovely Madam Jwa, was supposed to return from a trip she had taken to a neighboring province a couple of weeks beforehand.

But she never did.

And so, Seungkwan became officially alone in this world. Both of his parents were dead. For you see, fate had a strange knack of making the lives of the most kindhearted and good-looking people into a living hell, just so the rest of us peasants — those less than perfect — could feel like we’re not complete screwups.

Or that was what Seungkwan liked to tell himself, at least.  
  
Not too long after Seungkwan’s mother had been reported missing, and Jeonghan began to show his true colors, little by little. And oh, boy, what a shocking surprise that was to Seungkwan’s poor little heart. He always knew Jeonghan wasn’t the most  _enthusiastic_ person in the world, and although he pretty much excelled in all different bunch of sports no problem, after about forty-five minutes (give or take) of doing something active, his energy would be completely drained and he’d go out of commission for the next couple of days or so.

And that behavior precisely was an exact illustration of the stage he had then shifted into — just ten times worse.

Seungkwan didn’t dare say anything because he knew. He knew how much Jeonghan had cared for his mother and how the entire thing must have hurt him a lot. That maybe he wasn’t as easygoing and suave as he usually seemed to be, and perhaps he, too, could — and did — reach a breaking point.  
  
Without anyone else keeping him accountable, Jeonghan started simply not caring for his surroundings. Mountains of laundry began piling up damn near everywhere in the mansion and in a span of one week there was already enough dust to build another, identical house, just beside the one they were already living in. ‘Living’ being a generous word.  
  
There was no point in contacting the cleaning maids, since those used to be friends with Seungkwan’s mother, and refused to step a single foot into her house when there was still a clear chance that she might turn out alive some day. “That is like admitting defeat!” one of them exclaimed matter-of-factly when Seungkwan had desperately tried to reach out to her and turned out all the way into town one day.

Well, excuse him for not wanting his mother’s son to suffer the consequences of living in his own filth like a pig!

No one welcomed Seungkwan when he made every effort in an attempt to hire a new staff for the house. Apparently a seventeen-year-old couldn’t possibly be taken seriously with money (unless he was the Prince, then you could bet your ass there were absolutely no questions asked!) By that age, most guys should have had a few coins lying around somewhere — he really couldn’t comprehend why the idea was so far-fetched in some people’s minds. But then again, he was probably just lucky to be born to an affluent family.

And so, Seungkwan became in charge of household chores and tried his very best to order around a pleasantly diligent Mingyu (who did better around food — his one true love — than in close proximity of delicate, fragile things that could’ve been easily knocked down by one of his gangly limbs; so Seungkwan decided to keep him mostly inside the kitchen).

It wasn’t just that his childish stepfather didn’t bother cleaning after himself, he also had the nerve to make demands. And of course, because Seungkwan was a respectful filial son and remembered what his dad had told him about always trying to keep the people around him happy and laughing, he resorted to doing absolutely everything for Jeonghan. From drying and fixing his hair and clipping his toenails to going shopping for clothes for him (rarely  _with_  him, he almost never left the house), making him bubble baths, telling him silly mindless jokes, and singing to him  _everywhere._  Really, whenever Jeonghan felt like it.

It was quite an amazing feat if Seungkwan would’ve stopped to actually think about it — how he would be so willing to break into a song or crack a stupid joke at any given moment. And maybe that was because he honestly enjoyed it. Out of all the hundredth things he had made a routine for himself in the past year, singing and making occasional quips for Jeonghan to laugh at were definitely the nicest. It was something he was doing all by himself, anyway.

When the pain became too much to bear and he needed to feel his parents next to him just one more time, Seungkwan would sing to himself, or go through his father's old collection of journals in the library which he'd filled with his favorite jokes and short adventure stories — ones he'd written on his many extended trips. Seungkwan remembered how his parents had used to act out colorful bedtime stories for him from those very same journals, and how his mother would always try to sing him to sleep after they were finished, just for him to join her instead.

In a sense, what Jeonghan probably considered to be mere entertainment, was Seungkwan's way of commemorating his parents. He could ignore the fact he was parading around as Jeonghan's personal jester as long as it meant keeping their essence alive.

And besides, it wasn’t all bad. Jeonghan was paying him back for all of his hard work, wasn’t he? What about all the cuddles they shared? Those were pretty nice. Not like the irritating “Whose cutie-pie are you, Seungkwan?” Jeonghan had tried his best to brainwash him with — genuinely brainwash him! He did that kind of thing so often, and in slick, deceitful ways which were perfectly designed to persuade his victims to bend to his will, that if Seungkwan hadn’t been as strong-minded and stubborn as he was, he would've had given in to his manipulations ages ago.

Yeesh, what an absolute nightmare that was!

Seungkwan truly loved Jeonghan, but sometimes, he couldn’t help but plainly hate his guts. The guy was positively infuriating.

Alongside all the vapid requests Seungkwan had to take care of thanks to his lazy-ass father (who was more like an annoying teenage sister by that point), he was pretty much the only one maintaining the residence. Fortunately for him, Mingyu had volunteered to steer clear of potentially breakable stuff as much as possible (in case he would need to fix something he had already damaged before for the second time) and feed the barn animals and hounds on his free time. Though Seungkwan was less prone to let him do the latter, after that one time it took him an entire hour to finish the feeding rounds and by the end of it, Seungkwan had come to check on him and caught him red-handed, trying to eat fodder straight out of the trough. He was just a huge puppy after all. A huge, idiotic, disgusting, nasty-ass puppy.

At the same time, Seungkwan couldn't really blame him, they were running low on money and food, and Mingyu was already doing so much just to keep their head above the water that he was bound to snap in one way or another. Really, Seungkwan should have been grateful for Mingyu’s every waking second. Because if not for him walking eight miles every morning and taking any odd job he could get in town, they’d all probably be completely dead by then, buried by an eternal ocean of dust and laundry only to be swept away into oblivion once winter winds blow.  
  
Wonwoo was an entirely different case altogether. Seungkwan wasn’t fully convinced that he was pure evil, but he was  _that_  much close to deem him the bloody Antichrist and make exorcism rituals to abolish him back to the Abaddon out of which he had probably crawled from. Because while Seungkwan was drowning in responsibilities inside the house all day, Wonwoo had this ridiculous notion that if he’d spend most of his days outside of town, traveling places, sleeping in sketchy pubs and writing his fucking  _autobiography,_  it would somehow — miraculously! — fill the gaping void in his pathetic little life.

 _As if! Wonwoo must be pretty damn proud of himself,_  Seungkwan had thought to himself bitterly,  _to be able for the first time in his sad insignificant life to tell something remotely close to a successful joke!_

At the rare times he did decide to show his dumb melancholic face at home, Wonwoo would be cooped up in his room (that was converted into a supply closet long ago, not that he even cared to notice) writing one thing or another late into the night. Sometimes, when Seungkwan was walking past his room on those very same occasions, he would stop in his tracks and listen to the stillness of the house. For there was something very eerie about Wonwoo in those hours, all secluded in his rag-packed room and abnormally quiet.

Seungkwan would every so often dare to take a step closer and peek through the door crack; and in the center of the room, sitting on a small stool and hunched over something that used to be a bed and was now altered into a mop rack, there was his bastard of an older brother, hacking furiously into sheets of crisp paper. Completely silent. Completely solemn-faced, and barely moving save for the frantic motions of his wrist.

Sitting there, all alone...  
  
Seungkwan was always tempted to barge in, disrupt Wonwoo’s train of thought and hammer him with his fists until he was reduced to nothing but a bloody pulp begging for mercy. Of course, he never  _actually_ did that but instead would barge in, disrupt Wonwoo’s train of thought and smother him with copious hugs until he was begging for release, a breathless edge laced in his voice. Then they would part and Wonwoo would smile and laugh at his little brother’s tears, even having the audacity to ask for help for a new gag he’d been working on (and further down the road, maybe his own one-man comedy show, who knows?)

At that point, Mingyu would wake up, because according to Wonwoo: “If you keep at your bawling like that, everyone from Andromeda Market to the King’s chambers would be made aware of how ‘extremely dumb’ and ‘irresponsible’ I am. Seriously, calm down. I’m fine. I’m not going anywhere, you big baby.” So it was only natural that he’d eventually come to join them.

Before long the hugging would resume all over again, and Mingyu would flash his sharp canines and struggle not to fall off the bed as he scrambled to sit down with them.  
  
It was nice, sitting between hills of buckets and sponges and talking his brothers’ ear off until he was out of breath and his eyes were red and completely dry and so-so heavy. He made sure to make a point of Wonwoo’s seemingly expensive new wardrobe by punching him on the arm several times, and complaining that he had been forced to wear the same baggy set of clothing for  _two whole weeks_  while Wonwoo was out, writing poems and one-liner jokes in faraway lands.

And by the way which things would usually progress, exhaustion would finally take over Seungkwan and he would pummel down into a warm pile of old tattered shirts, not once caring about the mess he was making.  
  
~

Seungkwan woke up to the sound of someone repeatedly slamming something heavy against wood. The fact that Wonwoo’s room was located on the second floor of the farthest wing of the mansion meant that the person who was doing the knocking had been most likely kept outside for quite some time now, and that they’d probably brought some very important news with them, too, if the impatient thuds were anything to go by. For a second, Seungkwan’s heart beat loudly against his ribcage and his breath quickened, a sudden streak of hope flashing in his consciousness. He made sure to discard that dangerous thought as soon as it crossed his mind.  
  
Seungkwan opened his eyes to be met with a mess of a room and absolutely no one in near-sight. Everything was just thrown about, waiting to be moved by him back to its original place — as stuff would usually be left for him to take care of by the others.

Not Mingyu, though. He really did try to help ease things out. Well, for the most part.

Speaking of Mingyu, Seungkwan could have sworn he had heard a muffled and familiar lisp sounding from somewhere beneath the floorboards. The voice in question had been talking restlessly merely minutes before, only to be shushed down by something.

Maybe it was finally time for Seungkwan to go get his ears checked. Not that he could possibly afford something like that, what with how things were looking up for them lately...

No. No! He shouldn’t be thinking such depressing thoughts. Especially when he still had that all _someone-potentially-trying-to-tear-down-the-house_ shtick to deal with (not to mention, an _entire_  day ahead of himself).  
  
Seungkwan was usually a pretty upbeat person in the mornings, but even he couldn’t bring himself to be anything but a bit grumpy when the harsh hits resounded from downstairs and shot straight up to his aching brain. He stood up slowly and adjusted a thin gray blanket (that had somehow happened to cover his body overnight) on his shoulders, shaking his head to make countless untamed curls bounce out of his sight. “I’m coming! I’m coming!” he tried to shout, but all that came out of his mouth was a raspy croak.

 _Great._  

Seungkwan was losing his voice. Just what he needed to make his life that much brighter.

  
The next thing Seungkwan came to as he groggily made his way down the steps, was a seemingly very anxious Mingyu peering at him wide-eyed from the bottom of the staircase. He was lying flat on his stomach, stiff as a board (or as much as Mingyu could go without moving), looking strangely fitting with his lanky limbs sprawled all over — Seungkwan might have genuinely confused him with a brand new carpet if he didn’t care to look twice. All the while Wonwoo sat low on his heels, carefully leaning on one of the windowsills several feet away from the entrance door, just barely peeking through the closed curtains.  
  
“Good morning, sleeping beauty. As always, your timing is perfect. I was just done checking nothing too suspicious is happening outside, and to our greatest luck, no such thing seems to be the case. By the way, you were totally drooling on my pants again after you passed out yesterday,” Wonwoo blurted out even before Seungkwan could bring his bare feet to touch the cold foyer floor. Seungkwan glared at him and raised an eyebrow, instantly turning to face Mingyu, who was looking anywhere just not to catch his eyes — avoiding his detective gaze like wildfire.  
  
“Yeah, we totally weren’t just going around the house and making sure there’s no way someone could break in ‘cause we thought there were gunshots coming from the stables. Yeah, well, maybe we did. But we just wanted to be prepared for any possible outcome, y’know? And it wasn’t like we were actually going to use the gun — it was only for self-defense, y’know? We were being very careful and checked about three times that the safety was locked and the magazine was away from the gun before even pulling it out! It was a responsible thing to do, right?! It’s not like Wonwoo pointed the gun at them with the real intent of harming someone! And how could he possibly know that these men are actually official representatives of the Royal Court and not the thugs he got in trouble with for stepping into their turf a few weeks back?! If someone were tailing  _my_  tracks like that, of course I’d be extra alert! I mean, kill or be killed, am I right?!”  
  
“Goddammit, Mingyu…” Wonwoo groaned, he was fully standing up now, rubbing his temples tiredly as if the world’s weight had suddenly shifted onto his bony shoulders.

“What?!” Seungkwan’s eyes grew three times their size. He looked pointedly at Wonwoo.  ** _"_ _You're in a gang?!"_**

Wonwoo sighed deeply, rolling his eyes. "No, seungkwan. I'm not in a g—"

“It was my fault, okay?! Not Wonwoo’s! I was the one hyping him up to shoot that guard! And if anyone should take the blame it should be me, not him! Oh, God, I’m probably going to be thrown into jail for the rest of my life, aren’t I? Or be fucking hanged right in front of everybody in town! Not that I don’t deserve it because I really do! I’m such a horrible per— ”

“God, Mingyu, shut up, will ya’?”

Mingyu clicked his mouth shut, cradling himself into the fetal position and rocking back and forth, eyes darting to all directions.

“You shot up a  _royal guard?!”_  Seungkwan screeched huskily, clinging to the staircase railing with one shaky hand — holding on for dear life — and frantically fanning himself with the other.

“No, I didn’t! I didn’t shoot a royal guard! Honestly, how can this  _kid_  have the best education score record out of everyone in the district? If I ever need one of you to come testify for me please make sure that it’s not him they’ll be sending.” Wonwoo glared daggers in Mingyu’s direction, who was now fiddling with his thumbs and looking to the other side of the room, eyes cast downward bashfully.

“Sorry, I got a little bit carried away just then… He didn’t shoot anyone, just waved the gun around for a bit when I panicked,” Mingyu admitted, pouting and gracing Seungkwan with an apologetic side-glance. “But you have to believe me, I honestly thought we were in danger!”

Seungkwan exhaled an extended sigh and let his tense body loosen up. But only for a moment. 

“The important thing is that you’re not being tortured by gangsters. But don’t even think for a split second that just because I’m relieved right now I’ll forget all about this later!” he said, then threw his worn-out blanket over his left shoulder. The fabric completely wrapped around him, constricting his torso in a loose cocoon, the excess brushing the floor like a nightgown and making him appear small. His hands were pulling at the insides every few seconds to keep the blanket tight against his body in a determined fashion that read: ‘I’m actually really upset and emotional right now and currently holding back a severe mental breakdown, so you had better start comforting me soon or else I’m gonna freak.’  
  
Wonwoo smiled softly and relaxed his posture, seeing how his overprotective brother had mellowed down from his previous melodramatic-self to something a tad bit more manageable.

“And don’t you ever dare bring those dangerous criminal quarrels of yours over here, to my property! You hear me, Jeon Wonwoo? I don’t want your dopey con-artist friends hanging around here — none of them!”

Or… he was still completely insane.

One steady finger found its way angrily from under Seungkwan’s blanket-made armor to the front of Wonwoo’s now-scrunched-up nose. He had no other option but to back away clumsily as Seungkwan kept poking him in the chest with every other word that was leaving his mouth, “Say it! Say you won’t do what I’ve just told you not to!”

“Oka—  _Fine,_  fine! I won’t! I swear! You’re going to cause some serious damage if you keep on jabbing your finger like that!”

After that, there was a slight pause in speech as all parties took the time to restore their breath.

It didn’t take long for the silence to get severed by the sound of rhythmic child-like giggles.

“And what exactly are  _you_  cackling about, huh?! Should I remind you who was the absolute idiot to turn a blind eye to the illegal behavior of his careless ruffian brother and initiate that whole shooting-a-guard-charade just now?!”

Mingyu laughed harder from behind Wonwoo in return, covering his mouth just a little too late to save himself from Seungkwan’s wrath.  
  
Seungkwan was trying to reach far enough behind Wonwoo’s back, so he could smack the shit-eating grin off Mingyu’s stupid jerk face, when a thundering sound rattled the door, just ten feet away from them.

Mingyu yelped in alarm, and jumped to the opposite side of the room, holding onto Seungkwan’s shoulders almost painfully as he tried to hide behind him, sudden fear etched on his face. Wonwoo immediately moved to stand beside them and his hand hovered over one side of his trousers, where there was a visible bump near his hip bone area.

Seungkwan heard metal clanking noises when the hand of his delinquent brother moved further up, but chose to ignore this ‘illegal behavior’, and instead grab a candelabra from a nearby commode as another blow shook the entire house.  
  
“Open the door immediately,” a surprisingly gentle voice called out, but Seungkwan couldn’t be fooled.

 _For goodness' sake._  He was far too fatigued and overworked to deal with all the shit happening to him at that blasted hour.

Seungkwan didn’t even care if when he went outside he would probably be killed on the spot, he just wanted to get everything over with and go back to bed. He firmly held onto his improvised weapon as he and Wonwoo shared one final look.  
  
Mingyu whimpered pathetically when Seungkwan advanced forward, swinging the massive door wide open (with only mild difficulty, mind you), the swooping motion sending his blanket flapping behind him like a cape. He raised his candelabra-holding hand like a bat out of hell, ready to pounce on any threat that would present itself in front of him. “I’m not afraid of you!” he hollered in the face of a stunned young gentleman who fell straight on his ass and onto the paved ground of the entrance.  
  
“W-what in God’s name are you talking about? Of course you wouldn’t, there isn’t any need to be!” the startled man began as he pulled himself back on his legs, fervently brushing dirt off of fancy-looking slacks.  
  
“Where are the others? Didn’t you come here with guards?” Wonwoo interjected above Seungkwan’s head, making the dignified man gulp and clutch the strap of a big satchel he was shouldering.

“I sent them away, don’t worry. I saw how much distress their presence was causing you and convinced them to wait for me further down the road.”

Wonwoo took one step back, squinting his eyes and looking suspiciously into the far distance (his hand still lingering close to the bump in his trousers). The man looked quite unnerved by his actions but was able to remain calm nonetheless when he next said: “You see, I have a dire message to bring to your attention. It is out of the highest priority that I shall deliver this information to every household throughout the Kingdom with an eligible young virgin ready to be married off.”  
  
“What a coincidence, we have one of those in our household too!” Wonwoo exclaimed gleefully, a smug grin stretching his cheeks. He was quick to forget all about his previous wariness and lean his right elbow on Seungkwan’s shoulder, nudging him playfully and wiggling his eyebrows.

“ _Ha-ha!_  Very funny, Wonwoo! Maybe if you were around the house once in a blue moon to help out with things I might have already gotten laid!”

“Well, Mingyu is in the same position, so what excuse do you really have?”

“Ooh, burn! He does kinda have a point, though. Don’t you think?”

“Shut up, Mingyu!”  
  
“Um, excuse me?” The three brothers were pulled out of their exchange by a loud cough.

Oh right, there was still  _that_  issue they hadn’t quite gotten to the bottom of yet.

“I sincerely apologize on behalf of my ill-mannered brothers, Mr…”

“Hong. My name is Joshua Hong.”

“I’m so very sorry, Mr. Hong, they weren’t given proper education as kids — you can understand that, right?”

“Of course, it’s fine…” Joshua trailed off, seemingly taken aback by what he had just experienced. It took him a couple of moments before he could snap out of his daze. “Uh…”  
  
“So, the message?” Seungkwan pressed straight on and crossed his arms, not willing to look at either of his brothers’ directions anymore.  
  
“Oh yeah, sure, that’s why I’m here for. Right…” Joshua cleared his throat before opening up his satchel and getting out six shiny gold envelopes. “There’s going to be a big ball at the Palace celebrating Prince Hansol’s nineteenth birthday in about two days, and the King basically ordered me to invite everyone in the Kingdom — better chances to find Hansol a wife and all. So, yeah...” He handed one to each of the three boys standing in front of him before sending a quizzical glance beyond their shoulders to the inside of the house. “I assume… you’ll be able to give these to your parents without too much trouble? And also one to the eligible young lady you were talking abou— I mean, your sister?” He pushed the three remaining invitations for Seungkwan to take.

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but we don’t need all three of them. It’s just that my mother had passed away a year ago an—”

“Oh! My bad, here!” Joshua quickly returned a single elegant envelope into his bag and gave Seungkwan the two remaining ones, as if urgently and with so much fervor that Seungkwan didn’t even have a chance to protest.

“I-I have to go now, still a bunch of other places I need to be at by the end of the day, you know how awfully busy this job can get. So, yeah, goodbye!” Joshua bowed almost instantly and began walking away from the entrance.  
  
Pshht, who was Seungkwan kidding? He wasn’t just ‘walking away’, he was bolting the fuck out of there — running as fast as his twiggy little legs would allow him.  
  
For the next few minutes, the three brothers were just standing quietly on the threshold of their house and watching the scrawny man as he went, at the same time, trying to process what  _they_  had just experienced. Until a deep voice spoke up;

“What do you say then, Mingyu, should we go inside and meet our new sister?”

“Shut up, Wonwoo!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bonus: My ‘Mane’ Man

 

Not far away from the house there were two lively individuals watching the whimsical story unfold. Their bouncing heads were peeking from inside a wooden structure, where they were standing between hay stacks and hairy mammals, drinking up every little detail they could gather with huge eyes and bubbling laughter.

_“You think they’ve heard us?”_

**“Probably.”**

_“You think the horses will defreeze themselves eventually?”_

**“Probably.”**

_“You think the little guy would be mad?”_

**“Probably, and you really have to stop giving him names. I don’t want to see you getting hurt like last time! You’re far too precious to me, man.”**

_“Aww, thanks, babe.”_

**“Just making sure you know how much you mean to me, sweetheart.”**

_“My sunshine~ ^///^”_

**“My star~ <3”**

_“Anyways, I think you make short-stuff out to be way worse than he actually is. He really does have a soft side. Trust me, I would know.”_

**“Just wait until he hears about what you’ve just called him and then we’ll see how soft his fists would feel against your face. _Your beautiful, beautiful face...”_**

_“You’re right, I can’t afford any black eyes. I already have to deal with less than ideal vision as it is.”_

**“Oh, shut up. You know you’re absolutely perfect.”**

_“Stop it, you. You’re making my face heat up and you know how ugly my condition can get.”_

**“You’re always perfect, Soo-Soo. Even when you’re completely stinky and covered in sweat.”**

_“No, seriously, stop it. You’re gonna make me cry.”_

…

“...I don’t wanna cry.”

**“I can’t help it, no matter how or when I see you... you always make my heart go _boom boom.”_**

_“You know, I actually think your pointy nose is extremely attractive? Yup, it is indeed…_ very nice!”

**“I’m the one who should be giving you compliments, you’re far too pretty! _Pretty you~”_**

_“Every time I look at your sexy long face I just want to shout_ hooray _at the top of my lungs!”_

**“I adore your chubby little cheeks. No! In fact, _I adore you!”_**

…

_“For how long do you think we should stay here?”_

**“Till everything goes back to being unbroken again, I suppose.”**

_“Well, that sucks. It’s mainly your fault, too. Guess you were feeling right at home with all the cute lil’ horsies prancing around and acted too widely, hehe!”_

…

_“Uh, Minnie?”_

…

**“...that was actually really mean, Soo-Soo.”**

_“...”_

**“...”**

_“I’m so sorry Minmin! I didn’t mean anything I’ve just said! You know how much I love you, right??”_

**“It’s okay honey-bear, I forgive you.”**

_“Thank God! You’re the best partner a guy could ever ask for, cuddle McMuffin~”_

**“No, you are, marshmallow~”**

_“Minnie McDreamy~”_

**“My adorable squishy hamster~”**

_“Hunky McHandsome~”_

**“My angel~”**

_“Grandpa!”_

**“Grandma?”**

…

_“Grandpa McHottie!”_

**“Okay, now, that’s a little bit weird.”**

_“I don’t know, man, I kinda like it. It rolls off the tongue nicely.”_

**“You think there’s any chance you’d use it in the future?”**

_“Probably.”_

**“...in front of other people?”**

_“Probably.”_

**“Would I still love you then?”**

_“Most definitely.”_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics is tilted, he likes to move around a lot. Bold is pronounced, everything he says and does is loud.


	2. Now Introducing: Prince Charming

 

 

Whoever said that a noble’s life was an easy way of living, clearlydidn’t have to go through the vexing task of being forced to stand up for hours on end and have your body measures taken whilst sharp-as-all-hell needles keep poking at your sides. That person would definitely have to sit down for an eye-opening chat with the current heir to the throne and have their statement personally debunked. After all, it was ridiculously unfair to assume that just because he was born into royalty, that automatically meant he wasn’t capable of suffering. 

Just like he was suffering right now, for example.

“Could you please put your arms a little bit higher for me, Your Highness? That’s perfect, thank you.”

Hansol couldn’t quite grasp why he would need a brand new suit when he already had tons he hadn't even worn yet, collecting dust in his enormous closet. If he would’ve had any say in the matter, he’d probably choose to show up to his birthday party in his usual day-to-day getup: Nothing but his underwear.

It was more like a forced matchmaking event anyway, so you’d think the more skin he’d be showing would mean a better chance at wooing the ladies, right?

Unfortunately for him (and for the wide arrange of women coming to see him) this time around, the King was having none of his bullshit. He had forgiven his son far too many damn times in the past for his stupid shenanigans — which had always somehow resulted in Hansol breaking something, whether it be something in his own body, or ‘a family heirloom worth more than a hundred bratty boys like him. 

Oh no, this time around, there was no room for argument — not even a smidgen!

Hansol would have to suck it up, try behaving like an actual prince for a change and do exactly as his father says. If not... well, there was always the  _dying-from-a-terminal-illness_ card the King could pull — that would sure shut his son up. 

Oh, how he absolutely loved to hold that fact against him!

Not that any of the promises to behave properly that Hansol could’ve possibly made would ultimately prevent him from disappointing his father. Disappointing him for what would surely be the gazillionth time, when he’d — no doubt — make a complete fool out of himself at the upcoming dance (just this time around with the entire Kingdom watching and not only a select few).

Just the thought of having to participate in any form of social gathering — something he religiously tried to avoid at all costs — and try to strike up a conversation with more than a healthy amount of girls, made Hansol want to hurl his entire breakfast all over the nice seamstress’ shoes (who was currently stitching the final parts of his exquisite garment and feeling him up along the way).

The quiet atmosphere of Hansol’s bedroom on that morning didn’t stop his brain from working overtime and generating uneasy thoughts. In fact, it only made things worse. He kept imagining a million and one different ways in which he could miserably fail when Joshua would call out his name and introduce him to all the hundreds of guests who’d arrive at the Palace for his birthday celebration just in two days (his impending doomsday).

Usually, he would be more talkative on clothes making sessions such as this, but since his father had suddenly decided to hire a new tailor for the special occasion that very same day, the mood was completely different. 

Hansol didn’t feel comfortable enough around the latest stranger in his life to genuinely bother with speaking. Also, he was pretty much convinced by that point his father had made that entire arrangement just so he could have his own way again, and teach him an important lesson on ‘the befitting mannerisms a prince ought to have’. Which meant, he probably noticed how friendly Hansol had gotten with his previous garment-maker, and tried to prevent him from further embarrassing himself in front of someone from a lower social class.

Thank God for strict parenting for always keeping Hansol on his toes, am I right?

As if... More like, thank Joshua almighty for always trying (and succeeding without fail) to balance that strictness out. 

Urgh, how Hansol wished for his personal servant and friend to be there for him right at that moment. He had only gotten a short glimpse of him the previous day, when a bunch of maids had entered his room on an urgent mission and started polishing every last square inch in their sight. Joshua had been supervising their work then, simultaneously catching up with Hansol and explaining to him that, no, a nation-scale epidemic didn’t break out overnight and no, no one had been eaten alive yet. 

Apparently, his father had just thought he needed an ‘all-around refreshment of his close environment’ (even though he was mostly outside and there were already people cleaning his room every other day without having to be urgently assigned to do so). 

It was ridiculous — Hansol seriously didn’t think he was that messy. Well, as it turned out, he was devastatingly wrong, because the gobs of filth coming out of his room would’ve liked to speak otherwise. 

Which only helped prove his point; how all of those girls — literally hundreds if not thousands of them — were feeling ecstatic at the mere thought of meeting him? He was a complete loser! And amazingly awkward. Not to mention, a terrible conversationalist!

Fuck, he was going to disappoint everyone. He was going to ruin everything his father and Joshua had been planning for months, and probably end up making some poor girl cry after he dropped her on the dance floor in front of everybody!

Hansol wanted everything to just stop. He wanted to run away and hide in the woods until ‘just in two days’ time would pass and he wouldn’t have to deal with making adult decisions that every other person in his life was expecting him to make.

“Your Highness, are you quite alright?” 

“M-me? Yeah, ‘course.” 

“I’m almost done with your outfit, does everything seem to your liking? Do you perhaps wish to change something?” 

Hansol took a careful look at himself in the long silver mirror standing opposite him against the wall, twisting his torso from side to side and even doing a whole 180 to check the fit around his butt. He tilted his head, humming to himself in deep thought, before snapping his fingers at his reflection. 

“Maybe like, rips all over one of the sleeves or a bunch of bulging red flames here and there — that would look so sick!” 

“Your father had informed me something like this might occur and took some of his precious time to brief me on the list of off-limit things you’re most likely to request. I do apologize, but His Majesty himself clearly instructed me that any descriptions including the words ‘cool’, ‘lit’, ‘sick’, ‘awesome’ or ‘epic’ are to be outright ignored.” 

“Oh, yeah, it’s not your fault — you can’t help it. Sorry about all that, uh…”  Hansol fumbled, desperately trying to think of a way in which he could voice his honest thoughts without accidentally offending the kind woman. 

He apparently completely forgot that a brain-to-mouth filter wasn’t something that he actually possessed.

“Can you at least make me look like less of a stuck-up then, please?” 

“Aww, but I think you look quite handsome!” a male’s voice called from somewhere on Hansol’s left — the side of his room that was connected to the corridor. Hansol snapped his head to look at the person who was leaning in full-armor against his door frame, smiling all lovingly at him. The man’s eyes were traveling up and down Hansol’s body, his mouth opened in an impressed ‘O’ shape. Not wasting even a second, he opted to express his admiration by making disgusting cooing noises (so cringe-worthy, Hansol couldn’t help but shrivel up at the sound). 

“I came to let you know your grandparents have just arrived at the Palace and would most likely be settling in their room for the next thirty minutes. Your grandma is such a funny lady, Hansol! She told me all about their trip to this one island and let me tell you something, the things they’ve gone through there, it was  _real_ crazy! By the way, you look great!” The man was now giving Hansol an approving ‘thumbs up’, full-out whistling at him in exaggerated enthusiasm. 

“Stop talking to my grandma so much, man. It’s kinda weird.” 

“Why? Are you still upset about the fact she told me all about your worm-eating habits from when you were a kid? Or that one time you ran around the palace grounds complete butt-naked and wet after a bath and almost caused the maids a heart attack? It’s really endearing actually  — no need to be ashamed!”

“Oh my god, Seungcheol, please stop…” Hansol groaned, blushing a vital pink all the way up to his black roots. He was desperately trying to prevent his growing embarrassment from being shown —  one hand shielding the part of his flushed face that was visible to his tailor as his eyes danced frantically from one side of the room to the other, (where Seungcheol was still stood beaming at him) head shaking meaningfully all the while. 

“It’s quite fine, Your Highness. I don’t think I’ll be needing to make any more alterations that require your presence. You are free to go see your grandparents once you’re done getting out of the suit. Just leave it someplace where it should be easy for me to find.”

Hansol swore he heard the woman giggle as she went around the room collecting wayward scissors, threads and other such things that found their way into strange placements across the marble floor.

He quickly spotted a stray needle under the vanity and ducked down to retrieve it, getting up right after and sheepishly holding it out — just in time for the lady to grab the pesky little thing from his hand as she was making her way to the exit. She proceeded to thank him over and over again, arms full of overflowing fabric and sewing tools. Each ‘thank you so very much, Your Highness’ was followed by her dipping her back even lower in costume gratitude.

Hansol was about to brush the entire thing off and say, ‘It’s nothing, really. I should be the one thanking you,’ but didn’t find the chance, when the woman made quick steps to the front of the room, greeting them a respectful goodbye.

“Prince Hansol, Your Highness.” The woman once again bowed deeply. “Sir Choi.” She nodded in Seungcheol's direction. “I’ll be taking my leave now, so if you please excuse me,” the woman politely said, giving them one final bow before shutting the door behind her, back slightly shaking with held-back laughter as she went. 

Now when they were left alone, Hansol had half the mind to look at Seungcheol accusingly and purse his lips. “Remind me again why I don’t just ask my dad to fire you?”

“Well, first of all, I’m your best friend—” 

“Actually, Josh i—”

“—and you’d feel extremely lonely without my company. Besides, I can’t just disappear on your father like that. Who else would make sure there are no vicious assassins creeping up on you from the shadows and trying to blow your cute lil’ head off?” Seungcheol sent Hansol a dazzling smile as his eyes danced around the room, taking note of the odd lack of clutter. The Prince put his hands up in mock surrender. He sighed loudly as he sunk himself into his gaudy golden bed and slowly started to take off the robes he was wearing — completely tuning out the other man’s casual rambling.

“Although, your grandmother does seem to be pretty eager to take on my role. I bet she’ll do an amazing job as a knight! Even better when she’d have to manage a whole squad of guards. No one would even think about entering this place if she was in charge!” Seungcheol took his armor’s glove off, brushing a nearby decorative vase and ‘wowing’ silently, seeing as his finger didn’t pick up any dust. 

“I should probably quit when I’m still in my prime and not let her have the chance of seeing me get all lousy before she does.” As he was speaking, Seungcheol leisurely walked over to the center of the room and continued to flop onto the big velvet bed beside Hansol. He scanned the other’s face for a moment before giving his shoulders a reassuring hug. 

“What’s up, kid? You’re not usually like this, what got you all down in the dumps?” The knight spoke like he’d do to one of his men’s young stallions — overly affectionate and patronizing. When Hansol refused to answer him right away, he brought one of his sturdy hands on top of the boy’s head, messing with his hair roughly and pushing him further down into the mattress. 

The Prince managed to escape Seungcheol’s iron grip just barely, and flipped onto his stomach with a huff, burying his nose deep into the silk sheets, and heaving a heavy sigh. “It’s just that, why can’t everyone like, chill for one second?” he mumbled into one of his eight meticulously fluffed pillows.

Hearing the whiny tone of Hansol’s voice, the man beside him started to laugh wholeheartedly, becoming silent shortly after.

Hansol pouted into the covers. He could almost feel the way Seungcheol’s eyes crinkled up behind his insanely long lashes, searching around the room for something he always did: The Queen’s portrait.

Whenever he became all quiet like that, Hansol just knew he was staring at that little-framed picture. Like really now, Seungcheol probably thought he was being all sneaky and shit when in reality, whenever he came into Hansol’s bedroom his eyes would always wander to one fixed spot — his nightstand. Which is why Hansol didn’t like having him there. 

When they were meeting outside in the gardens with the other guards or hanging out in one of the many halls on Seungcheol’s off-times, then Seungcheol could easily pretend nothing was wrong. But when he was up in Hansol’s room to deliver some sort of message or request from the King, he’d all of a sudden, completely lose the careless façade he so meticulously worked to maintain. When looking directly at the faded face of Hansol’s deceased mother through an old oil painting, he was rendered speechless, his gaze lingering for much longer than was considered casual.

Seungcheol was patting Hansol’s back gently, soothing circles into his bare skin and humming low in his throat. The younger let himself relax into the touch, watching as sunlight seeped its way through the open window and made beautiful shapes travel up the brilliant blue curtains. He stretched his arm up, letting the sun mark his skin with multiple wobbly shimmering drops. One of the light spots reached his wrist and Hansol lowered his elbow to catch it in his palm, fingers folding slowly one by one.

He was going to turn nineteen in two days and his mother wouldn't be there to experience it with him. Wouldn't be there when he makes his first crucial, life-changing decision — which he was absolutely  _terrified_ of. Wouldn’t be there to give advice and guide him in the new shared reality of him and his future wife. And the thing is, everyone knew that. Especially Seungcheol, who was for some reason, adamant on playing the role of both of Hansol’s parents ever since his mother’s death.

Hansol could just  _feel_ big sad eyes narrowing behind insanely long lashes and boring holes into his nightstand.

 _Let him look all he wants,_ Hansol told himself.  _He isn’t going to find anything, you put it away. Now no one can look at her like that anymore. Not even you..._

Hansol sulked into his forearm, eyelids pressing tightly shut against the hard bone. Everything sucked. The new suffocating suit lying at the foot of his bed sucked. The over-cleanness of the room they were in, sucked. Seungcheol trying to be there for him on one of his near panic attacks — sucked. Hansol’s life generally sucked and would continue to suck even on his birthday. Then he would have to choose some miserable girl to marry, and make her life suck, too, because he simply wouldn’t be capable of loving her back.

“C’mon, kiddo, time to get up.” There was a booming  _whoop_ that resonated in Hansol’s ears as a calloused hand came in contact with his lower back.  _Hard._

The boy instantly leapt up, causing two pillows to fall into the ground as his entire body twisted in pain. He was rubbing his back, which was now turning into a fine shade of crimson, hissing at Seungcheol a confused: “What the hell, dude?”

“Now, now, Hansol,” the older man ‘tsk’ed disapprovingly. “Your grandmother even went through all the trouble of baking a special cake just for you and you know what I think? I think you’re a good grandson who doesn’t want to make his grandma wait for him for too long.”

“Wait, what?” Hansol blinked. “You mean, again?”

“Yeah, I don’t think she understands the concept of ‘personal cooks’ very well at all. Don’t they have people like that in the west too?”

Hansol couldn’t disguise the little smile that was creeping onto his lips. “I think she just enjoys the feeling of being able to do things for herself.” He shrugged as they got themselves up from the bed. Seungcheol was now rummaging through his closet, chuckling in amusement.

“C’mon, put a shirt on. And do me a big favor, close your mouth — a fly might get in.” Hansol’s vision was completely cut off as the soft material of fabric hit him square in the face, the action almost making him fall back onto the bed. Seungcheol snickered and slapped him twice on the back.

Goddammit, that guy wasn’t even aware of his own strength. Hansol would probably be able to feel his smacking two weeks from now.

“Should really get a hold of that weak body of yours. Come to the ring sometime, I’ll let you fight one of the guys, show you some firm discipline. Maybe that’ll help make a real man outta ya’.”

Hansol scrunched up his nose, and rushed to get the shirt over his head with jerky hands (those hits  _still_ stung). “No thanks, man. I don’t need another person breathing down my neck at all times. I get enough of that as it is.”

                                           

~

 

Hansol really wished his father hadn’t decided to invite their entire family over for his birthday.

It was bad enough that he had to go through his ‘ingenious’  _hook-Hansol-up-with-a-random-person-and-then-immediately-die-on-him_ plan, the last thing he was missing was his relatives to be there for the realization of it, as well as the entire country. He couldn’t stand the thought of them bearing witness to his lame-ass pursuing attempts.

Even now, Hansol could already hear the shrill voice of his annoying eleven-year-old cousin, Samuel, taunting him and calling him ‘Verdorky’ (a clever combination of his mother’s maiden name, Vernon, of which he'd used to go by, and the derogatory term, dorky).

Samuel… God, he hated that kid — he really did!

And it was quite an impressive accomplishment, too, since Hansol never found it within himself to say that about  _anyone._ He even thought the toothless homeless guy who sold suspicious soup downtown by the butchery was somewhat on the charming side — and that man had a knack of spitting juicy insults whenever one of his customers complained about strange things floating around in their food (mainly hair or nails, and on some occasions, even a rat’s tail — if the gods were being especially generous with you).

Also, what if the process of picking his wife involved like, making out and stuff?

At least Hansol’s dad was an only-child so he only had to deal with his mother’s side of the family. And even then, there wasn’t a whole lot of them — just his grandparents, his aunt, Lydia, her husband, Marcus and their two children: Samuel and Sofia.

In Hansol’s humble opinion, there couldn’t be two more different kids in the whole wide world. For starters, Sofia — Hansol actually liked.

Correction: Sofia was actually  _likable._ She was a naturally sweet girl (contrary to her obnoxious twin brother).

Often times, Hansol had found himself sitting down with her in their usual meeting spot — a huge balcony near the formal dining hall that had a direct view to extensive rows of exotic flowers — and recalling everything that she had missed about his life in the Palace since the last family visit.

After all, Hansol was never one to hide things from other people. Especially little innocent people, who held the stars in their eyes and sat on the edge of their seat as he paced around aimlessly, visualizing his most recent adventures with spastic hand gestures (and his best-attempt at sound effects).

It wasn’t so commonplace that his foreign, middle-class cousin got to hear all about the extravagant tales of graceful aristocrats, ravishing princesses and luxurious parties thrown by the high society. So Hansol took it upon himself to make every second together count. Sadly, it was something that he hadn’t gotten to do for a long time now since his father was too reluctant to re-establish the connection with his mother’s family after her funeral.

Fuck, he really missed them — It had been more than a year now. Maybe the all visitation thing wasn’t so horrible like he had originally thought. 

Evidently, there wasn’t much that could make cake horrible. And there was absolutely nothing even the least-horrible in listening to his grandma’s crazy stories over a piece of such cake, whenever she and his grandfather came to visit. Frankly, it was fascinating to hear her speak and it often distracted him from his own boring reality as an active Royal figure.

His grandparents traveled a lot, so Hansol could be certain there would never be a shortcoming of boat sinking catastrophes or violent tribe encounters in their conversations. Also, he wasn’t the only one who found them entertaining. Seungcheol was one-hundred percent enamored with his elderly family members, and passionately swore by the statement that just by sharing experiences with other people, they had the power to make anyone forget about their problems. 

He once even admitted to Hansol that his grandparents were some of the greatest people he had ever gotten to know, and even if he hadn’t said anything, Hansol could most likely figure it out by himself just by seeing the way he acted.

The knight seemed like the happiest man on Earth at the available moments he happened to have with Hansol’s grandparents (typically seen pushing piece after piece of homemade sweets down his throat and smiling from ear to ear like an idiot). Hansol had to agree with him, being in their company was one of his favorite things — an injection of restoring energy.

It would usually go like this: Everyone would be sitting on the floor around a low table in one of the small rooms by the servants’ quarters (since his grandparents preferred the simpler design aesthetic). Hansol’s grandma would be shuffling on her knees from person to person, pinching cheeks and caressing biceps as she talked non stop, pouring all of them more tea, or putting another cookie on their delicate china plates. His grandfather would sit a bit stiff in his place, and sip curtly from his cup, occasionally joining the conversation to comment on the intriguing things he saw on the way to the Palace, or inquiring to hear about Hansol’s new interests and Seungcheol’s duties as head of the guards.

Seungcheol’s face would be splattered with crumbs, his mouth full to the brim with baked goods, and he would continue to gradually lose syllables in favor of more pastries. Besides Hansol’s grandma, he would be the most vocal, and definitely the most excited out of their little group.

“Why, Seungcheolie-dear, you barely had anything! A man of your build should eat well, help yourself to some more cake,” Hansol’s grandma would insist, motivating the man in question to nod vigorously and help himself to one more slice — or three.

Their meetings would normally come to an end with long hugs and wet kisses on forehead and cheeks, full stomachs and plans for next time. Hansol would smile and bob his head at everything that is being said, warmth erupting from his chest in fluttering waves. Then,  Seungcheol would drag him out of the room, the two of them swaying like penguins, drunk on fruit cake, as they promenaded the hallways.

This time around it ended a bit differently — there weren’t any sticky forehead kisses. Now Hansol significantly towered over both of his grandparents and they had to stand on their tiptoes just so they could reach him (his grandma compensated for the lack of contact by hugging him as hard as she could).

The food on the table had been cleared off and everyone was huddled near the exit with no intention of moving anytime soon. Hansol’s grandfather squeezed his shoulder, complimenting him on his recent height growth spurt, and Hansol’s grandmother and Seungchol shared a satisfied look, as if conveying to each other: ’Look at our baby, he’s all grown up now.’ Hansol just laughed and thanked his granddad in response, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly.

“You have matured so much, Hansol, I can’t believe this gorgeous young man standing in front of me is actually you!” His grandma clasped her hands and gestured at his figure from top to bottom. 

“Wow, thanks, grandma,” Hansol said with a crooked smile.

“Let me rephrase that.”  His grandmother shook her head, chuckling. “The reason why I can’t believe it’s you is that...” She inched closer and held his hands in hers, the twinkle in her eyes suddenly dimming out as a new emotion colored her face in dark hues, “you look so much like her, Vernon."

The prince froze with a shaky breath. His chest clenched painfully. Dreadful feelings he couldn’t name swarmed around in his heart, piercing it with a murky sense of doubt and guilt.

Did he really?

“Ma’am I’m so sorry to interrupt, but Hansol still has a lot of responsibilities to attend to today,” Seungcheol’s voice echoed in Hansol’s head, shattering his thoughts, and he felt a steady hand gently brushing the small of his back as he blinked and came back to reality.

“Of course, don’t let us hold you back, sweetie — and tell the chef that your grandmother demands he’ll be extra attentive to the desserts on your birthday!”

They said their final goodbyes, then Seungcheol pulled Hansol by the arm out to the hallway, forcing him to follow his frantic stride through endless corridors, his smile not faltering for even a second.

Seungcheol’s racing feet slowed down as soon as they came across a hustling pack of maids on the main floor. “Ladies.” He released his grip on the Prince and let the women pass them by with a mixture of giggles and shy courtesies.

The pair came to a halt, standing near the tall translucent doors leading to the gardens. Sounds of chirping birds dribbled inside and filled the silence.

“So, what is it that I have to do next?” Hansol questioned faintly, making Seungcheol focus his full attention on him.

“Oh, I completely forgot to tell you, Prince Minghao is here,” Seungcheol said after some thought. “So I think it’d be best if you start by stopping by the training grounds to say hi.”

It took a whole minute for the information to completely sink in.

“Minghao? Wow, that’s awesome! How come? Did my father invite him?”

“I have no idea, but you should probably hurry up before he runs out of dummies to dismember.” Seungcheol resumed his walking, now determined about the destination he was heading toward, and a lot more easygoing than before.

They exited the building through the garden doors, and strolled along an ivory stone path that blended seamlessly into the snowy ground and was lined with groomed little thorny bushes and elaborate benches. The February sun was high up in the sky and shone brightly on top of their heads as they continued to turn left and right along the white embroidery created by the frost-covered plants.  

Seungcheol hummed as they’ve reached a metal gate that was partly obscured by a couple of old willow trees bending under a thick coat of snow. It opened up to a large open field that was divided into several bordered areas, each accessorized with different training equipment. There were about half a dozen men scattered across a big arena at the far end of the field; they were swinging blurry swords that clashed against each other and made audible clunks, their labored breaths creating a white swirly cloud that hung above them heavily — which drew Hansol's attention almost immediately.

“The guys are waiting for me, I’ve been away for too long,” Seungcheol said and covered his eyes to protect them from the harsh light reflected from the stark white ground, gaze moving from the arena to someplace beyond it. “And here’s your prince! Or should I say the most formidable wushu warrior of the east?” He ushered Hansol to come after him, beaming like the sun above at the younger’s undeniable excitement.

And why shouldn’t have he been thrilled?

Anyone who had ever gotten to witness Prince Xu Minghao’s fighting in action had no other option but to be left completely speechless in admiration. Although only nineteen years old, the skill in which the boy handled his techniques far surpassed older and more experienced men. After defeating a renowned wushu master at the young age of thirteen, the name of the prince became a legend in and of itself, whispered in awe throughout every martial arts school known to man. He was considered a prodigy.

That’s how fucking cool Hansol’s friend was.

Minghao’s body whirled gracefully across cobblestone, landing a hypersonic dropkick to the training dummy in front of him and making it topple down to a seemingly growing pile of shredded straw and broken sticks. His feet ceased their dancing at the sound of new voices coming in his direction, and he lifted his sweat-drenched face to look at the two guys marching toward him.

“Minghao! it’s so good to see you, man! What are you even doing here?” Hansol shouted halfway there, Seungcheol doing his best to keep up with him. Minghao ignored the greeting and instead opted to push another dummy from the corner of the range. By the time he was done arranging everything to his liking, Hansol and Seungcheol had reached the edge of the practice area, Hansol fleetly invading in to get a hug. Minghao returned the embrace, smacking the other’s back earnestly and giggling in that skittish and bouncy way of his.

“Seriously, I can’t believe you’re here!” Hansol broke the hug, all smiles. “What for?”

“Your dad sent a messenger,” the other replied as he hung from Hansol’s shoulder, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck.

Minghao devilishly shifted his weight onto Hansol, trying to make him trip over. He almost broke his own nose instead, when his plan backfired and Hansol instinctively leaned sideways. Good thing he had the sharp reflexes of a cat and Hansol didn’t like to hold grudges, or else they would’ve wound up with a serious injury on their hands.

“Well, guys, this is where we part ways. I should go back to doing some actual work now,” Seungcheol interjected and saluted the two squabbling boys. “And don’t let him know you consider Josh to be your best friend.” He winked playfully at Hansol, before quickly scampering toward where the other guards were battling among themselves.    

“What was that just now?”

“Uh, nothing.” Hansol freed himself from his friend’s hold with a shrug, looking at Seungcheol’s disappearing back to avoid eye contact. “It’s really weird he invited you here — It’s awesome, don’t get me wrong — but I thought he’d only invite close family aside from well, the general public.”

Minghao clicked his tongue and began twisting his right arm, doing the same with the other after a while in an attempt to release some of the tension in his sore muscles. “That explains it, then. He’s planning to add us to your family soon.” 

“What? What do you mean?” Hansol tilted his head, observing closely as Minghao contorted his torso, and switched between touching his heels and the tips of his toes.

“My sister — the guy who came said that you’ll be ‘greatly expecting her’ and went to talk with my parents for, like, an entire hour. What do you  _think_ that means?”  

Hansol knitted his eyebrows, lips turning into a thin line.

What did it mean though? What would take as long as an hour to discuss? Something that should be talked over with Minghao’s parents in private… something about their daughter that has to do with how much he was expecting to see her...

Oh. 

 **OH!**  

But—

It can’t be it, can it?

“Jieqiong? But we’re just friends." Hansol’s eyes rounded with realization.

“She won’t like hearing that, she has a massive crush on you, you know?”

“What?” Hansol almost fell on his ass. “Since when?”

Minghao groaned and turned around so he could grace the Crown Prince with the utmost best grimace he could muster, placing his hands on his waist in a clear display of exasperation.

Hansol took that as a way of telling his friend didn’t particularly like his answer. It happened more often than not, actually — him saying the wrong thing at exactly the worst time possible. He was pretty used to his father’s glares by now, or just people staring confusedly at him until realization decided to strike, and he’d quickly apologize for his careless words and correct himself. But Minghao’s looks were different — if they could kill, Hansol was pretty damn certain he would have already been long gone and buried deep in the ground by now.

“Look, wouldn’t it be better to marry someone you’re at least familiar with? Instead of a stranger whose only interest in you is your looks. These girls haven’t even seen you before, only heard rumors of how handsome you supposedly are.” Minghao balled his hand into a fist and waved it around menacingly, trying to prove his point.

"But that’s exactly why I can’t do it! I’ve known her my entire life — she is like my own sister, Minghao," Hansol tried to counter, retreating backward as Mingaho chased after him — coming closer until they were standing eye to eye, only a few inches apart.

“I don’t think that’s it, Hansol. I think the only man who is capable of refusing my sister is either a fucking idiot or a flaming homosexual,” Minghao stated simply. “Guess which one meets your criteria.”

“Dude, keep your voice down. There are people around — someone might overhear!”

“Oh, my mistake. I thought everyone already knew you are queer,” Minghao continued with a regular voice as he flopped onto the ground and moved to massage his tense quads and calf muscles.

Hansol simply watched him quietly for a couple of minutes, shoulders steadily slouching in defeat. “Don’t let my father pick up on your rumors, at least, okay?” he mumbled. “I don’t want him to have more reasons to be disappointed in me.”

“Rumors?” Minghao stormed up into standing. “You’re fucking pathetic, Hansol! You should confront him instead of trying to deny your own identity for the sake of his stupid reputation!” The angry boy swatted the air right under Hansol’s nose threateningly, steam figuratively coming out of his nostrils.

“I’m not in denial, I just don’t think it’s worth it,” Hansol tried to argue anyway. He knew his friend. He knew he wouldn’t actually hurt him even if he might get really mad. Minghao was just a little frustrated, is all.

“Your happiness isn’t worth it?!" Minghao growled and sent a flying punch to the center of the dummy he had moved earlier. It crushed down with a bang, straw shooting everywhere like a stream of blood and landing all over the snow surronding the practice range. “You make me so mad, man! I swear I’m gonna bash in your stupid little gay face one of these days!”

Well then. Apparently, they needed to do some bonding.

“...okay,” Hansol said.

“Okay, what?!”

“Okay, I’ll talk to him…”

Minghao relaxed his posture and unfurled his clenched fists.

“Okay… Minghao?”

The martial artist prince spat on the ground, temper rising back up. He looked at Hansol, then at one of the unscathed practice dummies behind his shoulder.

Minghao made a mad dash toward the line of timbered figures at his opposite direction, and snarled, drilling his foot with perfect precision straight into his target’s crotch.

“Finally!” The dummy hit the dirt with a clamorous thwack, adding to the heap of wooden shambles scattered all around the perimeter, and scaring two doves from a nearby tree. “Fucking finally!”

Fuck. 

What did Hansol just agree to?

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry Samuel, I needed an annoying younger relative and got reminded of you and Hansol bickering on 17tv. 
> 
> Also, Jieqiong, Queen of Lesbians, sorry to put you in such a role. I'll give you some girls to flirt with later or at least some cats to cuddle.


	3. Chronicles of a Pixie Godfather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I wrote this before Zootopia came out (it was my first svt fic back in 2015).

 

 

It was a beautiful sunny day in Spiritsoul, the kind of which is only told about in fairy tales; which was highly appropriate considering the very imaginative name of the place. The city wasn’t called like that for nothing, though, the location it was established in was well-suited with the whimsical ambiance its label gave off. It was the kind of which can only be described as magical (once again, very appropriate).

But if one absolutely had to illustrate a picture, Spiritsoul would’ve been characterized as a flourishing terrain, growing wild with giant, at times, sentient plants and holographic grass, pricked with bundles of luminous modern buildings that looked as if they were fresh dew drops sprinkled throughout the vast glimmering green; A bustling metropolis, situated just a stone throw away from a dense forest, home to the Hermit Elves and wild animals. It was the monumental capital of the mystical land of Conjurea which accommodated creatures of all species within its limits; a truly magical place that bathed in the first rays of morning light and glowed like a thousand crystals as if to welcome the day, and as the sun set, lit up with countless colorful fire-ball lanterns that lined up inky highways and stone bridges.  
  
Natural environments and urban attributes, magic and technology, nymphs and dragons. Two worlds mingled into one, Spiritsoul was a peaceful city.  
  
Well, most of the times...                             
  
“Why are both of them so fucking dumb?!” Jihoon threw his hands back stormily, watching the two clients of his latest case going about their lives through a big crystal ball. It was floating at the center of his study, enveloped in tiny enchanted clouds to keep it up mid-air, and currently broadcasting real-time images from the Human World.  
  
“How can this guy be a prince? He can’t even come to terms with his own damn sexuality, are people really going to let him rule a country?!” Jihoon blinked furiously, clearly disturbed by the idea. He tried to drown his fuming rage in the cold beverage he was holding (‘Bloody Good!’ — a nutrition-packed full blood substitute for the modern-age vampire), slurping intensively on a swirly pink straw and making dents on the bottle with his nails.  
  
Jihoon almost screamed in agony (only almost, since he was a self-composed adult and didn’t want to disturb his centaur neighbors) as the ball’s surface flashed once and the vision it was showing changed. He caught a glimpse of a brunette boy with pouty lips, inserting what seemed to be a golden envelope into a drawer in his nightstand, only to completely forget about its existence a single moment later.  
  
“Why?! Why would you do that?! Pick that thing back up — don’t let the chance slip right through your fingers!” The bowl of ‘Unicorn Fluff’ which Jihoon was happily digging into just seconds before, dangerously tilted to the side as he thrashed about. His right hand immediately shot toward the snack to prevent it from spilling all over his newly imported spiderweb-couch (because he was a self-composed adult and took care of his belongings), while his left hand violently convulsed into a flower-shaped pillow out of pure exasperation.  
  
He lifted himself off the couch, bowl still in hand, and pointed his open palm at the magical orb, madly shouting: “No, no, no! You’re doing it all wrong! You’re supposed to want to go to the dance, not — not this! How else are you going to fall in love and make adorable babies together?! Well, not make babies. More like, establish a deep spiritual connection with each other first and maybe decide to adopt once you’ve reached a comm— Oh, you get the point!”  
  
Jihoon flopped back onto the sofa cushions with an audible groan, continuing to shove a handful of pink fluffy candy into his mouth, eyes completely glued to the crystal surface in front of him. Hysterical laughter erupted from his mouth, his knuckles turning white due to the force with which he was grabbing the snack bowl.  
  
They were turning everything into a big hot mess, and the fact he was powerless to stop them was driving him up the fucking wall!  
  
Jihoon didn’t know what had gotten into him. He wasn’t usually like this, you see. He was a self-composed, rational and calm adult. After all, he still was the first pixie to ever reach his position as a wish-fulfilling state agent. It was something that clearly took a high level of maturity to do — to follow a supposedly unattainable dream, that is.  
  
Jihoon moved out of a small town in the name of Pixan (located at the southeastern-most edge of the ancient forest) into the big city against everyone else’s advice.  
  
Working at SMD (Spiritsoul’s Magic implementation Department) and learning how to manipulate one’s powers in creative ways, was something that the Pixies in his hometown could only marvel at from the confines of their small homes as stories of courageous magic-wielders, rescuing people and saving the day, played on the news at fixed hours during the evenings. They were meant to be simple magic dust extracting workers and nothing more. Only harvesting, not creating.  
  
Every kid in Pixan that Jihoon had ever known looked up to the agents with adoration. And every other day of his childhood was filled with elated retellings of their heroic actions, patrolling the dangerous streets of the Demon Realm or tackling challenging quandaries in elusive Human Land.  
  
But his fellow classmates knew their place. They weren’t naive enough as to believe that there was an actual chance of them growing up to be as amazing as the guys they pretended to be in their fighting games and collected merchandise of. The thing was, though, Jihoon _was_ that naive.  
  
He had that inexplicable craving to create something new, something no one else had ever seen before. He wanted to use his powers for good and to inspire others. Was it really too much to ask for?  
  
Jihoon was the quiet kid who sat alone during lunch break. When every other pixie was out playing with their friends near the school pond, Jihoon was making twigs and dry leaves swish across the ground outside the classroom window — making background music for the old Phoenix that had built her nest on the big oak tree in the yard. She lived away from the Phoenix dwellings since she was very close to dying (once they sensed that their lives were about to end, phoenixes tended to migrate far from home so they could resurrect peacefully someplace else and have a fresh new start). At this stage of her life, the only thing that she was capable of was singing. But her singing was always tinted with the faintest hint of sadness, longing for youthful days that were long gone and vanishing ghosts of the past.  
  
On one extremely painfully quiet recess, Jihoon decided to attach a harmony to the bird’s sorrowful lyrics. It wasn’t a sad tune, but an upbeat one — trying to turn the memories fond instead of bitter. He didn’t intend for her to hear it, but she did, and to his pleasant surprise, indeed cheered up, chirping enthusiastically to the rhythm he had created for her.  
  
Together they continued to make music for a long time. Until one day, the Phoenix came to the window in the middle of one of his lessons and drummed her beak against the glass to the astonished reactions of his teacher and peers. He immediately opened it for her, ignoring the warnings of the petrified kids around him. The Phoenix screeched loudly, scaring his entire class into standing at the farthest corner of the room. Then, she started singing their very first melody, and Jihoon had understood instantly. She was thanking him, thanking him for his company and for subduing her loneliness. Tiny yellow flowers bloomed from thin-air at the sound of the Phoenix's voice, intertwining and lowering on top of Jihoon’s head like a crown of flames. He didn’t see her anymore from that day on.  
  
Jihoon and the Phoenix, they were two estranged individuals finding comfort in one another. That was when Jihoon first realized he could make others happy. He could give the world something that was truly his.  
  
Yes, he wasn’t meant to be a hero. He wasn’t supposed to think beyond the boundaries of Pixan and hope and dream for something better. He couldn’t be anything more than a mere dust gatherer. After all, Pixies were small and weak.  
  
But Jihoon wasn’t — he refused to be.  
  
After all, he was the very first pixie to have his kind of occupation. And in the end, he had realized his lifelong dream — something that no one else besides himself had ever been willing to bet on.  
  
It was something he had accomplished through sheer power of will and countless sleepless nights, working his ass off to prove that he _was_ strong and skilled enough to work alongside bigger, more powerful fairies and sprites.  
  
He had suffered patiently through exhausting exam periods, striving to get straight A’s in all of his tests in order to show the skeptical higher-ups his true merit. With that goal in mind, he had stayed awake for hours a day, memorizing entire magic theory books and spell casting methods until his under-eye bags rivaled the night sky with their darkness.  
  
Even after he had graduated at the top of his class, achieving perfect scores in all of the required fields (academic and otherwise) he was still forced to live in piss-poor conditions in a small shared apartment his commanding officer had assigned to him. His flatmate was one of the biggest clowns in the force who was infamously known as someone who couldn’t even be trusted to save his own life, and Jihoon himself was left to take care of only the most insignificant and minor tasks imaginable.  
  
Every day for a year, his job had revolved around helping poor mermaids that had gotten themselves stuck in one of the city’s many water shuttles, or removing thorns from the paws of clueless Griffins who had made a shortcut to the forest through the surrounding fields.  
  
Though as of late, he was slowly but surely starting to climb up the rank ladder by doing his best even on the most minuscule job, earning his credit one point at a time. And it sure paid off, because now, Jihoon finally had something to show for all of his hard work; he was given a classified mission.

It was a pretty unconventional issue, too, his commanding officer, Beomju, had informed him; “A recurring human behavioral pattern that should be closely monitored by us. If not, well, none of the bigwigs over at the executive board were kind enough to tell me.”  
  
In other, more simplistic words, what that basically meant was that a certain chain of predetermined events was bound to happen sometime soon and it was up to Jihoon to make sure that everything occurred according to their records.  
  
It was called ‘The Cinderella Story Phenomenon’ by the guys at Headquarters, and when Jihoon had asked to look at some references to past cases, they didn’t even hesitate. One guy directed him to a huge section in the Magic Administration’s library, where hundreds of documents were sorted neatly into an endless-seeming pile of carton boxes.  
  
Jihoon had to basically relive his trainee days at the Academy when just in two nights, he successfully studied through shelf after shelf of lengthy papers, perched uncomfortably on books after closing hours and only using the light of his wand to read.  
  
By now, Jihoon was confident he knew all the ins and outs of Cinderella Story and could revise every little detail about the events surrounding it. Which now brings us to this current ‘story development’:  
  
“I can’t let this happen! It’s not — It’s just not right!”  
  
Jihoon carefully placed the food in his lap on top of his leaf-woven coffee table, arms slightly shaking. He inhaled a sharp intake of breath and clasped his hands tightly together, closing his eyes and counting up to ten in his head.  
  
He wasn’t supposed to intervene. Not until much later, at least. He should control himself.  
  
A self-composed adult...  
  
A self-composed, rational adult.  
  
A self-composed, rational and calm adu— Oh, fuck it!  
  
The pixie jolted up, bumping into his coffee table and making unnaturally bright red liquid spray everywhere. He started pacing across the carpet, from one corner of the room to the other, hands crossed behind his back, and forehead wrinkling as he attempted to organize the swirling thoughts inside his head.  
  
He’ll go there right now and fix up everything before anyone back at base would ever be able to catch wind of something going wrong!

Yeah, that’s exactly what he should do.  
  
“Where the hell did I put it? It has to be here somewhere — I always make sure it’s here.” Jihoon was going through his desk, hastily searching for a particular something (and trying his very best to put things back in place and not just throw them to the ground). Once he couldn’t find the thing he was looking for, he marched straight out of his study, rushing past two cramped bedrooms and rounding a corner toward his dark living room.  
  
Jihoon snapped the light switch on, immediately focusing his attention on a big glass cabinet that was leaning against a pastel wall opposite to the entrance. He headed in its direction and continued to empty it, leveling all kinds of strange artifacts and containers on one arm while his other hand frantically pushed stuff inside.  
  
“Was that really necessary?”  
  
Jihoon gasped and dropped a jar full of rare Frost Fairy dust he was carrying. There was a guy in his living room, lying on one of the couches with arms ceremoniously crossed on top of his chest. He yawned and straightened up, blinking at Jihoon nonchalantly from under a deep purple eye mask with black frilly ends and drawn-on eyes (added mascara and eyeshadow and all). The dust that had spread around Jihoon’s feet, shrouding the floor in a thick sparkly mist, now stuck to the man’s face and made it glow. His cheekbones were glistening in a way that definitely shouldn't have looked that good on someone who had just woken up literal seconds ago.  
  
“Junhui, help me find my wand, it’s an emergency!”  
  
“Oh, you don’t know?” Junhui stretched his arms out slowly and tapped his mouth with one elegant, manicured hand to stifle a yawn. “Hoshi and DK came by this morning and took it. If I remember correctly, Hoshi said something about not being able to see you torture yourself anymore and that they were going to put an end to it once and for all.”  
  
If Jihoon wasn’t already developing some kind of heart condition, now he certainly was.

“What?! And you just let him take it?!” He gaped at the other man, voice straining on every word.  
  
“I shouldn’t have...?” Junhui slurred, rubbing his puffy eyes and squinting from between a knot of blankets.  
  
_Adjusting to the light must be hard on him after so many hours in complete darkness,_ Jihoon thought.  
  
No, he wasn’t supposed to feel sorry for this guy! Not after what he had done!  
  
_For fuck’s sake, Lee Jihoon, focus!_  
  
“Of course you shouldn’t have! Don’t you know he is on probation?!” Jihoon said, a mix of anger and horror washing over him and forcing his hands to curl involuntary.  
  
Goddammit, had everyone lost their minds that day?!  
  
The pixie must have seemed really pathetic right then, because Junhui was looking at him sympathetically from where he was crouching on the couch, arms and chin resting comfortably on top of his folded knees.  
  
“Well, he does live with you, so I trusted that you were already aware of his plans.” Junhui shrugged coyly. “Sorry, my bad.”  
  
Jihoon groaned, hands shooting up to his face and rubbing it as he restlessly walked along an imaginary line he made between the couch and the wall. He was busy in thought and didn’t notice when Junhui stood up quietly and followed his rigid body across the room, staring worriedly at his nape.  
  
Jihoon was doomed if he couldn’t come up with something to solve this mess — he couldn’t go anywhere beyond this realm without his wand! He didn’t have the time to be loitering around, he knew that very well. The problem was, that he just couldn’t get the image of his partner’s smug face out of his head and actually think!  
  
“I still can’t believe he would do something this idiotic without informing me, and rope poor Seokmin into it, too!” The pixie suddenly halted in his tracks, causing Junhui to crash into his back and utter a slight ‘oof’.  
  
“It’s not like it’s such a difficult feat, I’m pretty sure DK self-willingly volunteered to go. It was inevitable,” Junhui sounded a bit breathless as he limped in front of Jihoon, looking at him straight in the eyes and holding onto his shoulder. His other hand was wrapped around his waist as if he were in great pain.  
  
Jihoon almost felt like apologizing. He frowned instead.  
  
“Have they already gotten tired of terrorizing every single creature down in the forest and decided that now will be a good time to branch out to other worlds with their imbecility?!” The pixie’s fingers pinched the air like claws at the end of every word, his eyes pointing directly at Junhui’s, wide and questioning. The other just snickered in return. “You know what always cheers me up when I’m in a bad mood?”  
  
“Uh, reading those weird as fuck porn stories on the internet?”  
  
“No.” Junhui shook his head. “Eating! You’re not yourself when you’re hungry. Wait right here, Mr. Grumpy-grumps.” He signaled Jihoon to stay still with his raised finger, whistling as he skipped toward the small kitchen unit attached to the wall behind the couch he had used earlier as a makeshift coffin. “You’ve got ice cream, right?”  
  
Jihoon sighed and began fiddling nervously with the edges of his over-sized sweater as all kinds of chaotic sounds echoed from the kitchen. He wasn’t entirely sure he could trust Junhui not to break everything he owned in there.  
  
“I see you’ve been drinking my ‘Bloody Good’.” The alleged home-wrecker called not long after, and stuck his head out to the living room. He held an empty plastic bottle in one hand and flipped it upside down to showcase the complete lack of liquid inside.  
  
“You bought tons and didn’t even touch a single fucking one because ‘you read online that it causes uncontrollable bloating’,” Jihoon argued in an acidic tone.  
  
“Still…” Junhui shrugged and examined the empty container mournfully.  
  
“Maybe if you didn’t leave your stuff over here and went to your actual house for a change, I wouldn’t have to make sure the food you buy doesn’t go to waste!”  
  
Instead of trying to argue with Jihoon’s blatant accusations, Junhui grinned and stepped out of the kitchen. “I’m a free spirit, I can’t be bound down by something as materialistic as a house,” he purred, satisfied with his answer, and lowered his head to bat his eyelashes at Jihoon.  
  
“Oh yeah? Then I guess I should just get rid of all the skincare products and colognes that are currently taking up most of the space in the shower.” Jihoon snorted, turning away from Junhui’s stupid direction as he approached the couch and started folding all the four different covers the other had snatched from his closet the previous night. He pierced his eyes into the fabric as he worked (the blanket concealing his body almost entirely when he held it in front of himself).

  
“Free spirit, eh? More like a freeloader. You should start paying me rent.”  
  
Junhui rolled his eyes and hurried to join Jihoon by the sofa. He picked up the three wrinkled pillows lying on it, attempting to mold them back into a three-dimensional form with the help of aggressive petting. “Oh, c'mon, Jihoon, this apartment is ideal for me! It’s mostly dark and quiet since Hoshi is constantly out and when you’re at home, you always lock yourself up in your room and watch soap operas. The heater never works so my skin doesn’t get clammy, plus, and I swear on my grave when I say this, you’ve got the nicest mirrors in all of the places I have ever been to! And trust me, I get around a lot, so I should know.”  
  
Jihoon stopped tidying the blankets — not looking very convinced with the other’s passionate reasoning. “But you’re a vampire…” He blinked.  
  
“That I am,” Junhui confirmed with a nod and continued to punch the pillow in his hands in the hopes of unflattening it. Jihoon knitted his eyebrows. “Why would you even nee—”  
  
“Look, Woozi, we even share the same shampoo brand, now you’d have to agree with me that this”—Junhui took off one of the pillowcases, gesturing at himself with it then flipping it at Jihoon—“is destined to be!"  
  
“Don’t call me that, please.” The pixie flushed and pushed the fabric out of his face.  
  
“But Hoshi calls you Woozi all the ti—”  
  
“His name is _Soonyoung_ and just to be clear, _Soonyoung_ is a horrible role model.” Jihoon forcefully dropped the last folded blanket on the couch. “You definitely shouldn’t hold a leprechaun as an example of how to do things right.”    
  
Junhui opened his mouth to protest.  
  
“You shouldn’t.” Jihoon poked him on the cheek. _“Ever.”_  
  
Junhui hummed in agreement, handing Jihoon the deflated pillow he had been manhandling for the last three minutes.  
  
~  
  
Now that all of the beddings were folded neatly in the closet and the pillows had been mended at last by Jihoon and tucked safely on his bed, he could finally go back to panicking.  
  
“What the hell am I going to do? Soonseok are going to turn everything into a bigger clusterfuck than it already is and I can’t do shit to save them from killing everyone involved, including themselves!” He leaned himself against the nearest wall, feeling the telltales of an oncoming headache. Everything he had worked toward would go down the drain once word about his failure starts spreading out, then he can officially kiss his career goodbye.  
  
“C’mere, hug it out, Jihoonie. Hug it out,” Junhui said, grinning and stretching his arms out in a (not so) silent invitation for Jihoon to get inside.  
  
“Junhui, honestly, I’m not going t—”  
  
“Hug it out, Jihoon, what could possibly happen? A little affection never hurt nobody before!”  
  
Urgh, he hated when Junhui treated him like that — like he was some delicate thing that needed protection.  
  
Jihoon pulled on his over-long sleeves and stared at the floor, blush climbing to the tips of his ears and coloring them pink. He glanced at Junhui who was still holding his arms out and smiling the most welcoming way an evil creature of the night could smile.  
  
Jihoon must’ve had lost his mind too that day. He stepped into Junhui’s embrace and buried his face in his chest in embarrassment. It was a good thing the vampire was so tall because then Jihoon wasn’t forced to look at him straight in the face when he made him do such things.  
  
“Isn’t it nice? It’s going to be alright, Jihoon. Soonyoung is smarter than you think.” Junhui's long arms curled around the pixie gently, the tickling touches making him giggle under his breath and hide his heating cheeks further in the fabric of the taller’s shirt.  
  
“I have a guy back at home that can help us out with your situation,” the vampire spoke into the top of Jihoon’s head softly.  
  
“Are you nuts?! If someone from SMD happened to hear about thi—”  
  
Junhui brought Jihoon closer, squishing his entire face against his body. “They will hear all about you messing this up if we don’t act first.” He stroked the shorter’s hair calmingly. “And then you can completely forget about working a serious job ever again. Isn’t that what you wanted to prevent in the first place?”  
  
Jihoon remained silent for a good couple of minutes (mostly because his mouth was full of Junhui’s shirt and it was a little hard for him to speak when the only thing his nostrils could pick up was the poignant smell of musk). Junhui was right, it was something he’d rather much avoid.  
  
Jihoon sighed, feeling Junhui’s smile pressing into his scalp right after.  
  
“Great, now go get your backpack!” The vampire let go of Jihoon abruptly, steering him toward the living room entrance (and not missing on the opportunity of slapping his butt from behind).  
  
“Where are we going?” Jihoon questioned, a bit hesitant. Junhui was now holding onto his shoulders and leading him through the hallway in the direction of his bedroom, looking downright delighted.  
  
“To summon a demon.”  
  
“What?! Why?” Jihoon scowled at the other in his peripheral vision as he guided him to walk faster.  
  
“To get into the Demon Realm, silly!”  
  
“Junhui, you’re a vampire — use your own damn powers to get there!”  
  
“Remember that thing about Soonyoung being on probation?”  
  
“Yes?” Jihoon gritted his teeth.  
  
“Well, I actually was with Soonyoung at the time the cops caught him. So, they stripped me of my powers too — terminated them for good, kinda? Since technically I’m an illegal immigrant,” Junhui admitted as they reached Jihoon’s bedroom door. He sleekly opened it and watched as Jihoon entered alone, waiting for him to finish his business while balancing himself on the doorknob. “They make this whole thing seem really dramatic and stuff but I betcha’ everything’s gonna turn out just fine if I give it a little bit more time!”  
  
“Is this why you were crashing on my couch this past two weeks? You can’t get back home? Because of Soonyoung?!” Jihoon spat from the corner of the room, where Junhui had pushed him to (it was where he put all his hats and bags).  
  
Junhui nodded very slowly.  
  
“I’m going to kill him!”  
  
“If you want to kill him, you have to get somewhere near him first.”  Junhui smirked, making Jihoon roll his eyes.  
  
“Okay, okay, I get it, smart-ass. How should we go about this demon summoning ordeal, then?” Jihoon asked and lowered a big backpack from one of his hangers, scanning it for any faults.  
  
“We start with the subway!”  
  
“The subway?”  
  
Junhui nodded enthusiastically, and glided toward the center of the room, arms flailing everywhere as he explained, “You have to reach the lowest possible point in your area. It’s like, the closer to hell, the better. Understand?”  
  
“I think I have a general understanding, yeah…”  
  
“Nice, now I’ll leave you alone to pack everything you think you’ll need for the next few days!” The vampire waved goodbye as he practically galloped out of the bedroom, probably planning on doing some packing of his own.  
  
Wait just a bloody minute… did Jihoon just hear correctly?  
  
Few days?!  
  
Goddamnit!  
  
Well, it wasn’t like he had any other choice...  
  
Jihoon lazily dragged his feet toward his nightstand, fitting stocks of underwear and socks into a pile in his backpack. He also made sure to take with him three sets of clothes for change, a toothbrush, some spare luck charms he had lying around for good omen, an energy charger (for his wand in case dumb  & dumber would already waste all of its powers by the time he’d get to them), his house keys and a bottle of aspirin (for obvious reasons).  
  
The pixie finished putting together his baggage and was halfway through the living room and outside of his house when...  
  
“Don’t forget to bring some snacks!”  
  
Jihoon rolled his eyes, but quickly went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. To his absolute demise, soft drinks appeared to fill up every available space inside, which only managed to draw a very long sigh out of him. He shoved them aside, still mid-sighing, searching for anything edible that wasn’t colored artificial vibrant red.  
  
After some time of putting away endless bottles across the floor, Jihoon finally found something. There were two and a half radishes sitting at the very bottom of the refrigerator. Though, they were still raw and quite old, if the dark spots decorating their skin were anything to go by.  
  
“Are you coming, Jihoonie?”  
  
Jihoon sighed one last time before grabbing the off-looking vegetables and cramming them into his backpack. _That should be more than enough,_ he concluded to himself sardonically as he joined Junhui outside the apartment.  
  
“Alright, let’s do this!” Junhui closed the door with a bang and a huge grin, then immediately turned to Jihoon. “Jihoonie, get more excited!”  
  
“Yay! To adventure! I guess…”

 

 

 


End file.
